


A Touch Of Silk, A Taste of Sin

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Gaby is a tease, Masturbation, Poor Illya has to suffer in the best possible way, Post-Mission, Showing Off, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: A long night turns frustrating for the two agents.Their cover in Panama is another false one. They dance in and out of sight of their mark, keeping close and searching for intelligence when they can, prying in all the right places for a hint of a story to spin back to U.N.C.L.E. Gaby’s frustration was evident the moment they walked in, made even worse when they came up empty handed. She drank and swayed, fingers slipped along the inside of his jacket to skim along the inside pockets of his suit pants all while he pushed her a respectable distance away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am alive -- sort of. I wrote this prompt from the amazing @gallyakink community. If you're not already following it, you should and send in suggestions too, maybe even write a few for us. We are small but mighty! 
> 
> **Prompt:** anonymous asked: Illya catches Gaby masturbating (either in-person or over bug). She doesn't know. While she's occupied he decides to start himself. Afterward she tells him she knew he was there/listening all along.

It’s the sharp gasp in the middle of the night that wakes Illya up. After a long night of dancing round and round with Gaby in the middle of a yet another mission, he’s exhausted. But the KGB has trained him well, and he wakes at the hitch in her throat. Though it seems Gaby does not feel the same fatigue as he does. Another gasp fills the hotel room and he slowly opens his eyes and peers into the darkness with his cheek plastered to the pillow. He’s greeted by the sight of Gaby’s legs as she kicks off the thin sheets, dipping in and out of slats of moonlight that filters in through the window. She twists against the top of the mattress, and his heart skips a beat when her hand slides over the side of her thigh and plucks at the thin fabric of her panties. In the dark, he can make out her slender form on her own twin sized bed as she twists and turns over onto her back, hips arching up into the glow of moonlight. 

Their cover in Panama is another false one. The dark pearl ring sits snug on her hand and even catches the light when she drags her hand over her legs, pulling at the fabric of her panties. Of course, the hotel room has two small beds per U.N.C.L.E.’s request. Gaby’s frustration was evident the moment they walked in, made even worse while they danced in and out of a crowded ballroom in search of intelligence to send back to headquarters. Despite mission protocol, Gaby drank and turn after turn on the dance floor she pressed closer to him. Her fingers slipped along the inside of his jacket to skim along the inside pockets of his suit pants. She made inappropriate moves while Solo urged her on from the latest bit of communication technology tucked away in their ears. The American gave her filthy suggestions and Illya blocked them both out. Each time she pressed closer, Illya pushed her back a respectable distance, telling her to stick to the mission. He muttered something of being professional and she kissed the corner of his mouth and pulled away from him, swinging her hips as she left him there with his lips burning for the hotel room. 

Now he regrets pushing her back. He mourns the words he used to chastise her as Gaby’s fingers pull at her panties in an impatient twist. Illya watches her through thick blond lashes, holding his breath as she slides the fabric up over her knees. Then there’s the unmistakable sound of them hitting the floor. Illya holds his breath as heat pools in his belly, his cock is hard and pinned beneath him against the unforgiving curve of his thigh and mattress as he lays helplessly still on his belly. Gaby’s hand slips down between her legs and he curses the lack of light when he hears her gasp. He follows the line of her arm where her wrist rests on her hipbone and fingers dipping between her legs. Her legs lift up and she presses her hips back into the mattress. Watching her work makes him ache, his insides are on fire and his stomach is tight as he wonders just how well he could work against her fingers. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he wonders what the taste would be like if she were to gift him with a drag of her fingers across his lips or if she would allow him to make himself at home between her dancer’s legs. Another moan catches in her throat and he rocks his hips down into his own bed, mimicking her movements on a much smaller scale. He doesn’t want to alert her — doesn’t want to stop the show she’s unknowingly giving him.

Her head falls back against the pillow and he catches a faint whisper on her lips. 

Illya’s world comes to a screeching halt as a broken version of his name permeates the air. Her fingers dip down between her thighs and his heart flutters in his chest as he watches her private moment. He curses the space between the two beds, curses pushing her away these last few months. They’ve done nothing but dance around one another since Rome — kissed once in Istanbul but now he’s fighting every instinct not to close the space between them. He’s willing himself still, dredging up all his KGB training to remain deadly still as she pants and writhes along the small bed, gasping his name and begging for his touch.

Gaby’s hips rock up into the slants of moonlight, and he’s gifted with the sight of her tawny thighs. The sound of her slick fingers echoes in his ears. The sheets tangled around his restless body are practically smothering him. The pressure is building at the base of his spine and his fingers turn against the mattress and claw at the sheets silently. His knuckles turn bloodless and another version of his name leaves her lips. Her head thrashes back against the pillow and she jerks her hips up into the darkness of the room. 

“Illya.” Her voice wavers then breaks. He can hear the springs in her mattress shake as she pushes herself off of the edge. It doesn’t take her long. She knows her own body, and he’s getting a private show of all her knowledge. With a shuddering breath she takes control of the whole room, spills herself into the stretch of moonlight, and gasps. Gaby comes, and he feels himself on the edge, he wants to come, too. His insides feel like fire, but he can’t move yet. If he gets up now she’ll know he watched. He can imagine the smirk on her face, knowing he watched her twist and turn, writhing on the bed and gasping his name. Gaby would never let him live it down, teasing him with a sing-song voice — calling him absurd little names. 

Gaby’s breathing is an uneven pant as she stretches over the mattress. She kicks the rest of the sheets off of the bed and rolls over with her hands slipping over her thighs, rubbing circles over her flesh. A soft hum leaves her and she sags against the bed, exhaling loudly until her breathing slowly begins to even out. It takes minutes — agonizing minutes before the soft snores start. She’s stretched out on the bed all peaceful, sated where he is a coiled livewire, practically sizzling under the heat of the thin sheets. Illya is still painfully hard and madness is settling in. He can’t keep up this position — he can’t push that show of hers out of his thoughts. He counts to ten before the next snore hits the room and then he slides himself out of the bed, slow and predator like. He keeps his steps silent, standing with pajama pants caught around his hard cock and a view of Gaby drenched in moonlight. He swallows hard and carefully steps towards the bathroom, only to catch a strip of damp fabric across the top of his foot. His heart jumps high into his throat and he struggles to swallow it down as he plucks it free from his toes. Her panties are soft, silky, and wet. He resists the urge to groan and stuffs them in his pocket, rubbing his fingers along the soft lingerie as he pads his way into the bathroom. 

When the door clicks shut he finally turns on the light to face himself in the mirror. Matted down hair and red cheeks is all he can see. His gaze drops down to his hand in his pocket and he pulls her dirty panties out, places them on the counter and licks his lips carefully, eyes closing. He blocks out the bright light of the bathroom and imagines Gaby twisting in the slats of moonlight again. He can barely stop himself from rocking forward. Illya doesn’t hesitate a moment longer. He reaches down and hooks a thumb down into his pajama bottoms and drags them down in a ruthless manner, boxers falling down to his knees as he braces a hand on the counter and wraps another around himself. A ragged sigh tears from his mouth and he bites down hard on his bottom lip as his fingers tighten around his cock. He drags his hand back and forth, a slow build, imagining her lips close to his ear, breathing out his name like she had minutes ago with her head tossing back on the pillow. His own hand is calloused and scarred; he wonders how hers would be wrapped around his cock. 

Illya strokes himself at the memory of her in that small bed. A gasp escapes him now. He’s becoming sloppy, unhinged over the thought of her tangling her legs in the blankets with the slick sound of her wet fingers smacking against her thighs. Another sound escapes him as he runs his thumb over the head of his cock, wiping away the slick pre-cum.e rocks his hips forward, envisioning her laying in his bed, making those same sounds with her head on his pillow and her hands in his hair. Or, better yet, her hands guiding him to all the right places. False engagement or not, he cannot deny the need he has for the infuriating mechanic with the sharp mouth and impatient fingers. He wants her. All of her, the dancer’s legs, the uninhibited moans and the sharp short nails digging into his skin, he wants all of her, and she must want him. He shudders and electricity races down his spine as he rocks forward, wishing to have her legs around his waist. Anger thrums across his nerves for a moment, anger at himself for pushing her away, anger for not taking her up on her offer when she slid her fingers into his pockets while they danced.

His hand on the counter spans out and his fingers touch the edge of her discarded panties. His heart skips a beat and his eyes flash open. Her dusky rose-colored panties are bright in the stark white bathroom of the hotel, and there’s a damp patch that draws his attention. Illya inches his fingers forward and hooks onto the panties. He clenches them in his fist and resists the urge to spill into his hand like a schoolboy as he holds tightly to them, marveling at the feel of the soft fabric. He rubs them back and forth between his fingers and then rubs along the damp spot, groaning when he pulls it up to his nose and inhales. Another shudder races across his muscles, and Illya has to slow his strokes or risk losing himself . 

He replays her dramatic performance from before, the arch of her hips, the breathy whispers, the sound of her wet fingers smacking on her thighs. His mouth runs dry and he gives into the temptation of dragging his tongue over the damp patch of her panties just for a taste. He’s granted with a very small taste — nothing more than a sample of her coats the tip of his tongue and he groans, louder this time. His voice echoes along the walls, and he forces himself to swallow down the next one.

Gaby snores softly in the room next to him, he can hear her rustle around the little twin-size bed, he gives her a good two hours before she’s up with her insomnia again, or maybe even three before she crawls into bed with him with her cold feet touching his warm ones and he’ll let her in because with Gaby he can’t seem to shut her out. 

He doesn’t want to shut her out, so he closes his eyes and imagines only her as he wraps her panties around the length of his cock. The silky fabric practically burns against his skin. He thrums with excitement as he tightens his fingers around his cock. The damp patch of fabric causes a delicious friction, and he imagines her looking at him now, watching his performance. Illya swallows another moan and presses the head of his cock into the damp part of her panties, and he’s lost. 

It doesn’t take him long as the sensation of the damp panties races along his sensitive flesh. Illya spills into those silky panties with a twist of his wrist before he can stop himself. His muscles clench and relax and he feels his cheeks warm as his skin pricks with a full-body shiver. His stomach twists with a heady feeling. It’s a mix of fatigue and shame as he pulls his hand away, her panties ruined, wet and sticky with both of them. For a moment he contemplates keeping them knowing that she’ll notice their absence come morning — he can’t give them back to her now. Pulling himself together he pauses before turning on the water, he doesn’t want to risk waking her — doesn’t want to have her witness the shame he feels fantasizing about the tiny mechanic. Illya pulls his boxers back up, letting the elastic of his snap against his hip before he swipes up her dirty panties and strokes them one last time with his calloused thumb. He decides to keep them. He wipes his hands clean on them, deciding to wake early with the sun for a long hot shower. Illya drags his fingers over her damp panties again and then closes his fingers around them. She has plenty more. He’s bought them all for every mission. Illya balls them up and drops them in his pocket, letting them weigh him down, anchoring him to his perverted actions. 

He flicks the light off before opening the door. Gaby’s soft snores still fill the room. She’s rolled over now, her body tangled in the sheets and curled onto her side facing his bed. He takes a careful step, thankful for years of training as he silently makes his way to the bed that’s two sizes too small. Illya settles down once more and barely gets the sheet pulled up over him before his eyes begin to drift shut with exhaustion. He pulls his legs up and settles in, letting his muscles go slack against the mattress. 

“Goodnight, Illya.” Gaby’s voice is a sing-song taunt that makes his eyes snap open. He can make out her cat-like grin in the sparse light. She rolls over, giving him a darkened view of her very naked backside, and he feels fire pool in his belly and a mix of shame wash over him as she stretches once more and hums lazily, “Sleep well.”

He curses low under his breath and he swears he can hear her snicker in the darkness. 

"I want those back you know." 

The blood rushes to his face and he's thankful for not only the darkness but that her back is turned to him as his throat constricts at the idea of revealing the dirty underwear to her. He sucks in a sharp breath and keeps his voice strong as a coy smile tugs at the edge of his lips, "Not happening. They belong to me." 

Gaby huffs, muttering something low in her native language that sounds an awful lot like ' _pervert_ ', but he lets it slide, rolling onto his side to feel the press of the silky underwear in his pocket and smiles smugly into his pillow.


End file.
